


Fraternizing. Or Whatever You Wish To Call It

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, How can they both not know?, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Michael Sheen is so beautiful I can't handle it, Mild mentions of smut but no actual smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 14:26:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19230949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley go about dealing with their repressed feelings after the Armaggedon-that-wasn't. Things get deliciously awkward. They're both complete idiots. Fluff ensues.





	Fraternizing. Or Whatever You Wish To Call It

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fic ever, so please be kind. I am obsessed with this ship, and I've been overjoyed at reading all the other lovely stories about these boys! I loved the book when I first read it about 20 years ago, and I'm currently rereading it, but Sheen and Tennant's chemistry is really getting my creative juices going. 
> 
> (and yes, I overuse parentheses). 
> 
> Yes, I'm aware that there probably wasn't a flat upstairs in Aziraphale's bookshop. In my world, he has a comfy three room flat. 
> 
> In my world, angels also have naughty bits. 
> 
> Mature rating for hints at said naughty bits, but not really any smut to speak of.
> 
>  
> 
> _________________________________________________________________________

It usually doesn’t take most couples 6000 years to discover that they truly love one another. To be honest, most couples have been reduced to moldering bones in forgotten graves within a 50th of that time, but Crowley and Aziraphale aren’t “most couples”. They are in fact unique among all the couples that have ever been since the dawn of recorded history. An Angel and a demon. Sworn to opposite sides of a great, celestial-demonic conflict, locked in a cold war stalemate over the fate of the human race. It was not only wrong to admit to each other, or even to themselves that they loved one another in a way that might just go beyond companionship, it was *illegal*. Even their cautiously etched out, platonic (at least on the surface) friendship, that had wound its way slowly and gently into existence over millennia wasn’t, (to borrow from Judaism for a moment), “kosher”. They’d both be flayed alive by their respective upper (and lower) management teams simply for sharing coffee and cake, or meeting every few decades for a nice chat in the park. Which they did sporadically, and then, as the foretold Armageddon approached, more and more often. But what they’d actually been doing, around and in between the cakes and scones and the walks and the pleasant, if sometimes contentious chats, was keeping to a mutual “Agreement”. An agreement to simply enjoy life and what the human world had to offer, while only vaguely pretending to be sworn enemies, hell bent (or heaven bent?) on thwarting one another. It had been a pale act indeed, this “adversary” thing from the beginning as they were both rather fond of one another at the very start, (fonder than either were willing to admit) Neither were particularly interested in rocking the proverbial boat of humankind enough to cause much of a splash. They routinely reported back to their respective supervisors above and below, every few centuries that they were continuing valiantly (in Crowley’s case) to cause epic amounts of evil, and (in Aziraphale’s case) to cast evil asunder with herculean acts of angelic goodness at every turn. In reality, what they were really doing was lightening the workload, enjoying humanity and earth, which they both had grown more and more attached to as the millennia marched onward, and growing closer and closer together as friends. What started out as a casual agreement and a friendly how-to-do? every couple of centuries had blossomed into something very much enjoyable, very much complex and not all that comprehensible to either party involved.

Before the ascendance of the Antichrist, they’d seen each other far less, but since the Antichrist had been delivered to the American attache to the president, via a group of rather chatty and distracted nuns (Wrong baby! Wrong couple! Crowley was still kicking himself) the angel and the demon had decided to double down on their efforts to help raise young Warlock with an appreciation for both good and evil, light and dark. And in doubling down on their influencing of the young lad as his dark humored nanny and sunny dispositioned gardener, (never mind that he’d been the *wrong* lad), they’d gotten to spend a lot more time together. Crowley had started to make regular stops over at Aziraphale’s cozy bookshop, and the two would while away many an evening drinking expensive wine, or high end cappuccino and arguing amiably about politics, literature and other human foibles. They used being lonely celestial/demonic corporeal beings with no one else of their caliber to talk to as an excuse, with a hefty side of “must discuss what to do next about The Boy”. Neither wanted to admit that life just wasn’t as interesting unless they could discuss it or argue about it with each other over a glass of something expensive and/or tasty.

Crowley for his part loved the modern convenience and sparkle of things like smart phones, that allowed their users to access almost the entirety of human knowledge and entertainment, but were mostly used to make fun of the current president and share videos of cute animals cuddling with each other. They smacked of pointless decadence, and so he loved them. And satellite radio. And speedy sports cars (though he’d never abandon his Bentley). He loved how fast and convenient everything was, from dating websites to fast food restaurants, and the endless opportunities that afforded him to use human kind’s endless capacity to fail at practicing delayed gratification so that he could tempt them into any number of small, sinful situations. He had grown quite fond of humans in fact. You can’t interact with a species for long without developing at bare minimum, a healthy respect for them. But Crowley found humans interesting, funny, sexy (at times) and he couldn’t help but be delighted at how easy they were to temp. These were his kind of people! And he never took it too far. Only causing minor anguish and irritation here and there by use of demonically dropped calls or congested traffic. Deep down, he didn’t really have the heart for wreaking true havoc or misery. And besides, his dear companion Aziraphale wouldn’t like it if he got too aggressive with the sewing of the sins.

Aziraphale, by contrast would express general disapproval of modern conveniences, like motorcars and fussy, newfangled indoor plumbing and the obnoxious noise that passes for music these days. He preferred good, old fashioned composers of arias and requiems. Not these one-named, flashy new artists, such as that "Elvis" fellow. Johann Sebastian Bach. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Now THOSE were musicians. Who was this Cher character anyway? And how had she gotten so famous by prancing around on a stage in barely anything and singing about sexual congress? (Aziraphale was always a few decades behind the times). He loved old, leather bound books full of ancient poetry about women languishing under cherry willows that was barely comprehensible to anyone anymore because the language in which they’d been originally written had died a dusty death at least 9 centuries ago and Aziraphale was likely the only living creature to still read and understand it. He adored decadent food and had developed a plump, stockiness over the years due to his devotion to sugary, creamy desserts. His plumpness went quite well with his large blue-green eyes (at least Crowley thought so in his weaker moments). Aziraphale had a loving, rosy smile for every baby and every cute little dog he passed on the street. And he delighted in making those around him happy. He too had grown very fond of humanity, in a slightly different way. While Crowley delighted in the sewing of annoyance and petty resentments, Aziraphale delighted in giving people things they wanted. A new kitten that came wandering in off the street. An iced coffee that stayed cold and didn’t turn into weak, pale brown ice water five minutes after being purchased. Winning lottery tickets for poor families in rough neighborhoods was a particular favorite of his. He could be uptight and snappish from time to time, and then immediately disappointed in himself for it.

Crowley found it secretly and extremely charming that Aziraphale was often disappointed in his own inability to be positive and loving 100% the time. It was very endearing to watch Aziraphale getting flustered over the rising price of pastries, or grumpy over the endless, metallic snake of traffic that wound its way past his shop, and then witness his slight shame at not being a “perfect angel”. It made the demon inwardly very happy to get peaks of his dearest friend’s contradictory motives and complex inner personality. It was a happiness he kept under wraps for the most part. Only letting go a snarky, backhanded compliment aimed in Aziraphale’s general direction when Crowley was very drunk or very sleepy, and off his guard.

“Aziraphale you sodding fool” He’d slur when deep in his cups “Sometimes I swear the Almighty must have given you extra good looks to make up for the lack of sense in your silly head”. (There!… that was barely noticeable as a compliment wasn’t it? Mission accomplished!)

For his part, Aziraphale secretly thought that Crowley was quite dashing and exciting. Angels are good and kind, but their lives did tend toward the boring end of the spectrum.. What with all the blessing and thwarting and being *good* and all that. Crowley by comparison, with his sharp cheekbones and serpentine yellow eyes and long, lanky limbs was always a devilish palate cleanser for Aziraphale. He broke up the monotony caused by the good intentions and kind acts that Aziraphale sometimes felt obligated to dedicate himself to by reminding the angel that life was fraught with darkness and adventure. That there was the brightness of the sunshine.. the ethereal light breaking through the clouds at dawn to illuminate the world.. But there were also dark shadows… mysterious and inviting, and to the angel, Crowley represented this adventurous uncertainty. Aziraphale would never dare admit to another living soul (celestial, demonic or otherwise) that he secretly *needed* Crowley’s darkness as a foil to his constant light. He secretly thrilled to Crowley’s blasphemous cursing, and offhand jibes at the world that his friend tossed out with such casual abandon. Though to be fair, if Crowley sensed that Aziraphale was genuinely offended by his sacriligious talk, or offhand cruel comments, he’d back pedal subtly as a way of apologizing, which Aziraphale found very sweet. Aziraphale knew that he’d grown very fond of Crowley over the millennia. He consciously knew that he and Crowley were friends. Close friends. The very best of friends even. But he’d spent such a long time pretending NOT to be friends with Crowley, to keep him at a respectful distance and uphold their facade of enmity, that he didn’t quite ever come out and admit it. Let alone look openly or honestly at the feelings that lay even deeper than friendship. *That* wasn’t to be teased apart and examined. No. Definitely not. They were simply companionable adversaries that enjoyed a good conversation over a glass of very old scotch and the occasional 2 week long argument about Greek philosophy. Good adversaries. Close adversaries. The word “friend” felt uncomfortable to Aziraphale, so he didn’t dwell on it all that often. Unbeknownst to him, Crowley was subtly struggling with similar feelings.

_______________________________________________

And then the Armageddon had been averted. It had all seemed on the verge of crashing down. Adam (Wrong baby!! Wrong couple! Crowley was never going to live that down!) could have joined forces with his demonic Father and the whole of their lovely, confused, sinful, beautiful human world would have been plunged into chaos and death. But Adam *hadn’t* done that. He’d been a sensible boy. Somehow, being raised in a small village by provincial people with good friends and an adorable, scruffy little Hell Hound had made all the difference. The entirety of Aziraphale and Crowley’s meddling had been for naught. Well… not completely for naught Crowley thought warmly. It had afforded he and the angel plenty of time to be together for the purpose of helping avert the End of Days. Aziraphale’s shop had burned down and then been recovered. Crowley had lost Aziraphale (he still shuddered to think about it) and then found him again. Crowley and Aziraphale had swapped corporeal forms (strangely intimate really) and had averted their respective punishments at their respective home offices. Now, they were both left without a specific job title. Hiding away on earth together, unsure of what to do next. For the first time in a very very long time, they didn’t feel hunted or watched by forces above or below that might obliterate them for daring to "fraternize” with the other side.

"We're on our own side" Crowley had said boldly after it all had ended.

For a while, they continued the way they’d been living. Visiting each other’s residences occasionally. Aziraphale never stayed long at Crowley’s (he found the decore obnoxious and austere at the same time), but he’d stop by if he didn’t hear from Crowley for more than a few days in a row. Crowley had started spending more and more time at Aziraphale’s. Napping on the couch. Finding excuses to stay later and later. Eventually, he started spending nights on Aziraphale’s couch. Just a few nights a week, and after all, It was comfy couch. Crowley was fond of the plush, wine red upholstery and overstuffed cushions. And he’d started to hate being home alone with no one to talk to. _No one handsome and sweet, who makes your heart swell in your demonic chest_ his rueful mind reminded him. _No one you simply couldn’t imagine living without…_

___________________________________________________

It was one such comfy evening, a year or so after the Armaggedon-that-wasn’t, and they were lounging about in Aziraphale’s shop, sipping a rather impressive pinot noir in respective crystal goblets. The conversation had died down and Aziraphale had started reading a leather bound volume, ensconced comfortably in an overstuffed armchair, while Crowley relaxed languidly on “his” couch, limbs splayed about in an almost ridiculous show of serpentine sensuality. A companionable silence enveloped them both.

Crowley decided to break it. He liked breaking things.

“So I was thinking..” He began. Glad for the one billionth time that he’d developed the millennia old habit of hiding his eyes (and therefore the majority of his expression) behind a pair of dark glasses…

“Yes darling?” Aziraphale looked up distractedly from his book and immediately blushed furiously at the term of endearment he’d let slip because he hadn’t been concentrating.

Crowley was so nervous he barely noticed and soldiered on without comment. “I was thinking…” He began again, summoning his courage. “I come over here quite often and spend quite a lot of time here don’t I? I’m always sleeping on this blasted couch and spending hours upon hours teaching you about the finer points of philosophical arguments you clearly can’t hope to ever truly understand without me. I mean, if its all the same with you, I could maybe.. . I could…. Maybe start… “ He paused, summoning up his courage in the face of Aziraphales sweet and expectant gaze.

_What if he says no?_ The unpleasant thought ghosted its way through his head like a pale specter, haunting a lonely graveyard.

“What is it Crowley?” Aziraphale asked with jovial patience. “I’ve rarely ever seen you tongue tied. Spit it out good man!” he barked amiably in a joshing tone. He added a kind, and what he hoped was a supportive smile to let Crowely know he was being … well.. Supportive.

“Well... “ Crowley continued shakily. “Well.. I wondered whether I might simply move in here with you?” _There_. He thought. Y _ou’ve said it. You made the leap. There’s no taking it back now. He’ll *know* you’re a giant, foppish, weak-in-the-knees fool and decide he’s done spending so much time with you_

Aziraphale’s wide blue eyes grew wider

“I mean, it only makes sense” Crowley continued bravely, fearing that maybe he’d started to babble a little. “No one will be watching any longer, or at least for a while. It will be far easier for us to work out how to balance our influences on earth if we work from the same location won’t it? And It’ll save the trouble of me having to drive over here every third day.”

“Really?” Aziraphale remarked, barely able to conceal the joyful tone in his voice. Struggling to sound casual, he said “Well, that.. that would be… That would certainly be convenient dear boy. You do spend quite a lot of time here. But what about your plants? Won’t they languish without your … …. … care?” (he narrowly avoided the word “abuse” to keep things diplomatic).

“I could move them in here with me” Crowley suggested, barely able to contain his devilish glee over such a positive response from the angel. He was shocked when Aziraphale, usually very possessive of the space he needed to store his many unsold books didn’t hesitate a beat..

“Well that would be lovely!” the angel exclaimed with that beaming smile of his Crowely so enjoyed witnessing. “I could probably find a *miraculous* way of moving some things around to make you a little nursery for the dear things”. (he was already secretly planning to be rather nice to the poor, traumatized house plants every minute that Crowley wasn’t around).

Crowley kept his cool. He’d had six thousand years to learn many imaginative ways to keep cool and had carefully learned to guard his facial expressions against his companion’s innocent yet age old gaze. It started as a way to keep any hint of “his side’s” motives out of his voice tone and body language, as the angel, he noticed was quite good at ferreting out his inner motives with innocent seeming questions. But as the years turned into decades and then to centuries and then stretched to millennia, his motives shifted eventually to hiding his feelings about Aziraphale himself. If he was honest, he only partly wore the dark glasses to hide his demonic eyes from human kind, but as a secondary benefit, they kept Aziraphale from seeing a longing in them he daren't let slip whenever he glanced in his companion’s direction.

“Well. That would be quite convenient” he said offhandedly and settled back in the cushions of the couch with a happy sigh.

“Yes” agreed Aziraphale with faned casualness. “Quite convenient indeed. I’m glad you suggested it.” He went back to reading.. Well.. to pretending to read his book. How was he supposed to focus on the ancient black script, crawling across the age yellowed paper when thoughts of Crowley being close to him all the time, of him *living in the same domicile* were crawling through his head, leaving delighted sparks of happiness with every turn. Mixed with the joy though was quite a bit of apprehension. Even though their respective sides had backed off for the time being, the way he felt about Crowley was still a danger to his celestial soul. He still risked falling, or worse, being found out and punished for “fraternizing”. They spent the next couple of hours distractedly pretending to relax in each other’s company until Crowley lept up quite suddenly from the couch and headed for the door without a word. “Where are you going at this time of night dear boy?” Asked the angel, confused and a tiny bit concerned. “Why.. to fetch my things” Crowely said sheepishly, before disappearing into the night.

_________________________________________

Crowley couldn’t very well magic an entire flat  full of belongings, replete with several terrified houseplants into Aziraphale’s ancient, 3 room flat above a bookstore, but he did manage to bring over a pile of his spare clothing (all of it slinky, black or slinky AND black), three token house plants (he’d only spared the lives of the ones he couldn’t easily move because Aziraphale had pleaded with him to spare them, while promising that the angel himself would be the one to go over on a weekly basis to water them - and secretly treat them really really nicely). He also brought over his giant, flat screen TV, which Aziraphale immediately insisted should never, under any circumstances, EVER be turned on when he was in the flat. It gave him the hebjebees. And he wasn’t fond of Crowley’s taste in television shows, which tended towards reality tv and garish music videos. Soon enough though, Crowley was happily settled in. Little demonic touches had started popping up around Aziraphale’s apartment. A stone gargoyle appeared over the front door. A collection of Cosmopolitan magazines (“I need manicure tricks and tips!” Crowley had exclaimed defensively. “Do you think my black nail polish looks THIS good without tricks and tips!?”) appeared on the antique coffee table. Aziraphale tutted and tisked, but he didn’t really mind. It made him feel closer to Crowley.

Speaking of closer… Now that Crowley was sleeping on the couch every night and spending most of his days with the angel, Aziraphale realized the fatal flaw to the once perfect sounding idea of having Crowley move in. He was close to Aziraphale *all the time* now. They were always within touching distance. It was maddening. His black velvet-clad knee was always an arm’s reach away. His slender waist, usually outlined rather too tightly (Aziraphale thought with a shiver) with some ridiculous, dark, button down shirt, was always swaying by as he sauntered from room to room around the bookshop. Aziraphale often read through the night while Crowley napped on his couch, and watching the demon, sprawled out languorously, limbs every which way while he slept was causing Azirpahale physical pain.. Not to mention how much it was distracting him from important reading time! He realized with a muted sort of anguish that his snap decision to let Crowley move in had been a grave mistake. Not because he didn’t want to spend this much time with Crowley. Quite the opposite. He delighted at their back and forth, part passionate debate, part playful barbs, part introspective discussion. He looked forward to seeing Crowley’s dangerously handsome face every day and wanted to see it every day from here on out. But… Having the demon *this* close to him. It was becoming a real problem.

At first, he’d allowed the everyday casual touches they’d always indulged in. Supportive hand to shoulder. Fingers brushing over a wine glass passed from angel to demon. But pretty quickly it became apparent that the reason this contact had been bearable before was that Aziraphale had been able to part ways with Crowley and distract himself with a book or a new coffee shop or with causing small, helpful miracles for the humans in his immediate vicinity. Now though, Crowley was by his side most of the day and night. It was wonderful. And it was torture. He found himself practically *leering* at Crowley’s slinky form as the demon strutted about the flat, and felt the desire to touch him further, in ways that weren’t at all incidental or particularly celestial, bubbling up inside him, despite his constant efforts to suppress them. He was struck even more than usual by Crowley’s sharp shoulders. Crowley’s narrow waist. Crowley’s high cheekbones. And those eyes. Gold and black flashing in Aziraphale’s direction whenever they weren’t covered by rakish black shades. Well.. those eyes made Aziraphale silently *burn* like a white hot flame every day he spent in close proximity to Crowley. And what could he do about it? Absolutely nothing. He didn’t dare. Not only was he almost certain that Crowley’s feelings for him didn’t extend beyond fond friendship, but touching a demon was sure to seal his fate as a fallen angel. Their whole respective existence was predicated on the fact that they were sworn enemies. God herself would undoubtedly cast him down into the pits of Hell for daring to …. *fraternize* in *that* particular way.

Aziraphale had never had sexual congress with anyone before. Unlike what most humans assumed, he was in fact well “equipped” to do so, but he’d never found humans particularly attractive, and other angels were hopelessly bland and officious (the image of Gabriel’s cynical, persnickety face floated before his mind’s eye and caused him a momentary bout of mild nausea). But Crowley. Dear me *Crowley*. Ever since the first day he’d seen the demon, draped fetchingly in black muslin robes, his auburn hair cascading in lovely curls around his handsome face.. Crowley, flashing a devilish smile at Aziraphale as he casually stated:

“Be funny if we both got it wrong eh? If I did the good thing, and you did the bad one?”

From that moment on the wall of the garden, Aziraphale had felt a funny sensation, deep inside him that had kept growing for thousands of years. It had started as a warm companionship. The demon, being a friendly face in a strange land,... the demon coming to his aid... the demon rescuing him from being discorporated…. He kept showing up when Aziraphale most needed him. The feeling grew stronger and stronger and eventually, against Aziraphale’s wishes, it had become to take shape into something deep and true and abiding. A feeling that gripped his angelic heart and set his body pleasantly aflame. It culminated on the night Crowley had saved them both from Nazi agents back in 1941. In that bombed out church when Azirphale had thought he’d lost his precious bag of books. Only to have Crowley saunter over and hand them to him, completely unsinged. It was then, that Azirpahale had the courage to put a name to his feelings, even if it was only in his most private and guarded inner moments.

Love.

He couldn’t dwell on that word for long and valiantly shoved it down into his subconscious whenever it crept into his mind. He loved Crowley. And not only as a friend. He felt the true, deep, romantic love he saw represented all over humankind’s books and films and songs. It filled his heart to the brim and at times, when Crowley flashed him that lopsided, devilish grin of his, it felt to Aziraphale as if he could barely breath from the strength of it. He understood now why humans were so obsessed with the emotion. And passion! He understood that now too. He ached to touch his skin to Crowley’s. Ached to do the things he’d only imagined but had never before attempted with anyone. Sweet things. *Hot* things. Things that made a blush creep up into his pale cheeks at the mere thought of them. Things that might leave them both breathless and intermingled. And this is why he stopped touching Crowley, and carefully, heartbreakingly stepped back from him in their every day lives. It was all too much for him. He still feared retribution if he were to ever give in to his weakness and reach out to Crowley in a way that moved past warm companionship. And so he suffered alone. _It’s not so bad really_ he lied to himself. _At least he’s here now, with me_.

__________________________________________

Crowley picked up almost immediately on Aziaphale’s physical distancing. At first, he’d tried to bring about contact by “accidentally” stumbling against the angel in the flat, but Aziraphale was surprisingly nimble for his plumpness and his apparent distracted nature. He’d deftly lept out of Crowley’s way. _Almost as if he were afraid of being burned_ thought Crowley with dismay. Next, he'd changed tactics and had tried passing Aziraphale cups and glasses with as much of his long, elegant fingers wrapped around the vessel as possible so that their fingers would graze one another's. Aziraphale carefully avoided touching him nonetheless, choosing to grasp the cups by whatever square centimeter of rim or stem that Crowley had not managed to cover with his fingers. Eventually, Crowley began to burn with frustration at the lack of touch. He missed it dearly. And being around Aziraphale this much… seeing his beautific smiles and broad shoulders, watching his blue-green eyes dance with joy, and hearing his lovely voice all day every day was making Crowley seeth with a strange mix of romantic longing, sexual desire and bitter disappointment.

____________________________

It was a delightful spring day, and Crowley had finally dragged Aziraphale away from his books for the first time in a week to get out into the city for a stroll. It seemed, ever since a few weeks after the demon had moved in, that the angel had been overly obsessed with reading, which forced Crowley to either go out and cause mischief by himself (which he did occasionally), or simply take a nap, always on the couch near Aziraphale’s favorite reading chair. He’d been overjoyed when the angel had so quickly and enthusiastically accepted his offer to move in, but since then (a few short months), the angel seemed to have withdrawn. This was rather the opposite of what Crowley secretly hoped would have happened.

_And what is it you *hoped* would *happen* exactly?_ Whispered a devilish voice in his head. _Did you think he’d somehow just fall into your arms and cover you with loving kisses?_ The thought itself caused Crowley’s body temperature to rise to almost human levels.

They sat, close together on a park bench by the lake to talk amiably and feed the ducks. Crowley, feeling suddenly daring, purposefully let his leg relax so that his knee rested lightly against Aziraphale’s knee. He felt a small shock of electricity at the slight contact, but the angel moved away, almost imperceptibly, so that there were a few millimeters of space between them, and proceeded to throw crumbs to the ducks.

“Ah! The weather today is simply divine!” cooed the Aziraphale beside him. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

“I’ll tell you why.” Snapped Crowley, suddenly irritable, “because all you want to do is read your blasted books!”

several of the ducks, alarmed by his outburst, swam swiftly off to find less violent purveyors of bread crumbs. An elderly couple on a nearby bench, polite and British, moved tactfully away from the pair in order to give them some privacy, ironically quite correctly assuming they were witnessing a lover’s spat. Crowley himself was surprised by the passionate anguish in his voice. He’d meant the statement to come off as his usual, mildly grumpy joshing with Aziraphale. He snuck a cautious sideways glance at the angel through his dark glasses and was surprised at seeing Aziraphale gazing at him with a strange look in his eyes. Was it shame? Disappointment? Regardless, the other man squared his soft, white clad shoulders and summoned up a kindly tone when he responded.

“Oh Crowley. I’m sorry. I suppose I’m not used to having you so ….… well.. So *close* to me all the time”

Crowley couldn’t stop himself.. He felt the petulant words burst from him as if he were a sullen teenager and not a millennia old demonic being of awesome power. “Oh. OK! So being close to you is a BAD thing is it?!”

“No Crowley!” Aziraphale adamantly insisted “Not at ALL!”. He’d turned to face the demon with more of that indecipherable look in his large, blue-green eyes. “No” He repeated. “Of COURSE not! Quite… well… quite the *opposite* really”.

This caught Crowley by surprise. He stopped, mid retort, with his mouth slightly ajar. _What now?_

Aziraphale was suddenly flustered. A deep pink blush crept gently over his pale cheeks and he cast his eyes downward in a shy way that even in the middle of a tense moment, left Crowely utterly charmed. “It’s… well… its rather hard to talk about.” mumbled Aziraphale. “Especially here,.. You know. At the park”. He finished lamely, wringing his plump, well formed hands together in his lap.

Crowley was taken aback. “Well”, he stammered, a bit distractedly.. “Why don’t we go somewhere where you *do* feel comfortable talking about it?” _because its killing me.. slowly_ he added, sub vocally.

Aziraphale’s blush deepened, and his hand wringing grew a touch more intense. “That wouldn’t perhaps be a good idea Crowley” he muttered, almost under his breath. His expressive brows knitted together over eyes that had turned anxious.

“Whatever do you mean!?” shouted Crowley, managing to scatter the rest of the ducks from their bench, where they’d waddled closer in hopes of more crumbs of stale scone. He’d had enough of this indistinct agony Aziraphale was subjecting him to. The lack of casual touch, the awkwardness that was never there before they’d merged domiciles. The strange distance that had grown between them over the last few months of living together. None of this, NONE of it was turning out the way he’d hoped.

_I think it’s time_ his thoughts whispered again in his ear _that you got clear with what exactly it IS that you HOPED would happen. Don’t you? That perhaps an *angel*, a being of light and beauty and *goodness* could ever love…._

Even internally, he shied away from the word as if it were a pool of holy water. He pushed the thoughts down. Again. For the 50 millionth time and stood up sharply. “Well, whatever it is you feel you can’t say to me, it’s clearly so embarrassing and so SHAMEFUL, that you can’t bear to entertain it in PUBLIC. And if THAT’S the case, then I think it’s time we took a break!” And with that, he marched off, towards his own flat. With a sullen snap of his fingers, he miracled all of his things out of Aziraphale’s place and into back into his own.

______________________________________

Aziraphale was left suddenly alone, feeling utterly distraught, on the park bench, without even the ducks to keep him company. He felt his heart sinking slowly into his stomach as he watched Crowley’s slender, black draped form rapidly moving away from him and into the city side walks in the direction of what he knew was the demon’s own flat. _Oh bother! What have I done?_ He thought with anguish. _I’ve gone and said something very wrong_. To Aziraphale though, since what he’d been about to say was really extremely flattering to Crowley and would have made the angel feel incredibly vulnerable, it never occurred to him that Crowley would have read something negative into his reticence to speak. Aziraphale got up from the bench with a heavy sigh and started his own, suddenly rather long walk back to his now (most assuredly) empty flat. He felt the weight of the world suddenly on his shoulders, which considering the events of the last decade or so wasn’t even all that much of a figurative statement. He missed Crowley already. Which was silly, because not that long ago (alright… several centuries ago), he’d been accustomed to seeing him only every few decades as a matter of course. The thought suddenly occurred to him that perhaps having Crowley move in had been an astronomically *bad* idea. The thought of a heroin junky came unbidden to his mind. Crowley was apparently a drug to Aziraphale, and he’d overdosed. Or no.. that was an inadequate analogy. Overdosing involved actually getting *too much* of a good thing didn’t it? And Aziraphale never ever EVER had *enough* of Crowley. In fact, he’d been getting only tiny bits and pieces for a very long time. Glances. Conversations. Companionable silences, but not really ALL of what he was craving from the demon. Their “fraternizing”, _or whatever you wish to call it_ , had gotten out of hand. They’d both gone a bit native it seemed. Both of them becoming more and more human as the years rolled on. He knew of no other angels who adored pastries and babies and little yippy dogs as much as he did. He knew of no demons who went out of their way to kindly assist angels in need the way had Crowley repeatedly done for him over the centuries. _Well!_ Aziraphale thought determinedly, snapping himself out of his reverie over he and Crowley’s roles and personas. _At least that’s settled. He’s moved out and I shant see him again any time soon._ The thought so disturbed him though that he failed to notice three plump babies in strollers and four small and very cute dogs on his walk home.

_______________________________________

Crowley marched resolutely in the direction of his flat. He of course could have been there in an instant with a snap of his fingers, but he needed the walk to clear his head and calm his blood. He just *knew* that Aziraphale had been on the verge of somehow rejecting him. Rejecting him on some deep level that would hurt even worse than the constant pining he felt whenever he caught sight of his beautiful, bright friend. By this point, he’d convinced himself that the strange look in Aziraphale’s eyes had been pity. _He did say that being close to you was the opposite of bad.._ The thought came unbidden to his mind, but he dismissed it. Aziraphale had certainly been referring to friendly comradery. That it had been “nice” to have the demon around. Similar to the way in which he spoke of a nicely baked souffle. Which was all well and good, but it still didn’t approach the roiling, tumultuous depths of pure, agonizing PINING that Crowley was forced to experience every time he was near the angel. Every time he caught sight of Aziraphale’s large, sea colored eyes. Every time he let his gaze rest gently on Aziraphale’s broad shoulders or his expressive, well manicured fingers. Hearing Aziraphale’s sweet voice, extolling the pleasures and kindnesses he saw around him brought a rosy glow to Crowley’s demon heart like no other creature ever had or ever could. As he entered his flat and let the heavy door slide shut behind him, he suddenly realized what he’d done. He was utterly alone, without Aziraphale’s semi constant, happy presence. He promptly crawled into bed, pulled the covers up over his head and tried to block it all out by sleeping for a few days.

___________________________________

Crowley's resolve didn’t last long. He dreamed repeatedly of Aziraphale as he slept. Aziraphale, gazing kindly at him and speaking with words that made no sound. When he looked closer, he could make out the words “ _Ashes. Ashes. We all fall down_ ” being formed by the angel’s soft and expressive lips.

Aziraphale, his eyes deep, cool pools of still blue-green green water. Holy water. His heart aflame. His heart, a levitating ball of flame dancing between he and the angel as if held up by unseen forces.

Aziraphale, standing close to him, taking a hand and slowly placing it on Crowley’s bare chest. Crowley flinched in the dream, expecting the touch to singe him. For heaven to come tumbling down and for Azirphale to burn with hellish flame. But it didn’t happen. Instead, he felt warmth flowing from that hand on his chest. As if the angel’s touch was healing him, making him whole. More than whole. Suddenly he was insanely aroused, and he saw Aziraphale’s face grow solemn in the dream, the angels beautiful eyes flashing with mischievous desire. His mouth forming the words “I need you”

Crowley woke with a start, covered in sweat and rock hard. His whole body tingled with longing. _Enough is enough!_ He rolled out of bed, and after a shower and a change into fresh clothes, he virtually ran to the bookshop.

_________________________________________

“It’s time we had a talk”. Crowlely said to a surprised Aziraphale, when he showed up at the front door of the bookshop a week after the scene in the park. Aziraphale didn’t bother hiding his look of radiant happiness upon seeing his friend again. “Crowley! He exclaimed with joy. “Its ever so good to see you!”. He moved subconsciously, imperceptibly closer to Crowely as if to embrace him, but then a split second later, corrected himself and subtly retreated back a tiny step. Crowley saw all this with a sinking heart, but he soldiered on.

“May I come in?” he asked, with a politeness that felt fake after spending so many years casually spending hours discussing books with the kind faced, handsome man who’d greeted him at the door.

Aziraphale gladly stepped back and welcomed him in. “I must admit” he babbled happily, “I wasn’t sure when I’d see you again, and I was rather nervous that this would be one of those decades long breaks. I don’t know if you noticed that I’ve called you on your cellular phone several times, and even tried stopping by, but you never answered the phone. And you never came to the door. I’m oh so glad you’ve decided to stop in!”. He babbled on effusively, and Crowley was suddenly heartened. They went up the stairs to Aziraphale’s flat so as not to be interrupted by unwanted (unwanted more than usual) customers. Soon they were both standing in Aziraphale’s study, a few feet apart. Aziraphale rather nervously clutching his hands together with an expectant look on his face.

“Can I offer you some tea” He began. “Its a bit early for scotch so..”

“I love you” Said Crowley softly.

“Or perhaps a nice savant blanc?” Aziraphale continued, apparently having built up too much momentum by way of generic, small talk to really hear what Crowley had just said. “Wait.” He stopped, eyes widening. “What did you just say? That you… “

“That I love you” Crowley repeated steadily.

Aziraphale absentmindedly noticed that he’d removed his dark glasses and had fixed the angel with a sharp, yellow-gold gaze. “But.” Aziraphale spluttered. He’d frozen in the act of stepping towards the kitchen to get a drink. “But.. “ he repeated as if he was a broken automaton.

Crowley forged ahead, even though his heart was pounding and his breath was coming quicker. “Just shut up for five minutes and let me speak you stupid angel” The tremor in his gentle voice took the sting out of his words. “I need you to just listen for five minutes without interrupting me or babbling about god knows what. Can you do that for me?”

“Certainly” said Aziraphale faintly. He turned back from the kitchen and stood, face pale and attentive, shoulders squared, waiting for Crowley to speak.

The demon dropped his intense gaze and seemed content to look dejectedly at the floor as he continued. He found he couldn’t say what he had to say while looking at the face he loved. It was just too much to handle. “

Thing is” he said in a voice that seemed incredibly resigned.. To what fate Aziraphale had no clue. “I’ve loved you since the very first time we spoke. I wasn’t planning it. I didn’t *want* to love you. It wasn’t exactly *convenient*. But the moment I saw your lovely blue green eyes in that smiling face of yours, dear lord your face, and that halo of crazy blond hair, I knew I was in trouble. I suppose, aside from you being the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen, you were so *kind* to me. No one had been that kind to me since I fell.

For the first century or so, I thought it would go away. I’d spend years upon years on end *not* seeing you, but then, when I couldn’t stay away any longer, I’d carefully place myself near you, or find out where you’d got to in the world and head in that direction. I’d tell myself you needed my help because you were such a bumbling innocent. And to be fair, there were more than a few times that I helped you out of a pretty tight space. Seeing you made me full of … full of… I don’t even have the vocabulary for it. Joy? That seems like a small word. Grace? Maybe... the sight of you filled me with ….. grace? It… it almost felt like God’s love.” At this point, his voice hitched and he stopped for a second.

Aziraphale, eyes filled with concern, took a minute step towards him, but Crowley waved him away and continued without even looking up.

“It got worse as the centuries went by. I discovered that not only were you beautiful and kind, but that you were interesting, humorous, maddeningly obstinate, comforting, fair minded, sweet, and utterly ridiculously enjoyable to be around. I loved…” he faltered for a second “.. loved *disagreeing* with you. Is that even supposed to happen?” he mused to the floorboards of the bookshop.

“Well..” Aziraphale attempted to interject with a strange tone to his voice, but Crowley cut him off “It was a rhetorical question you helpless git” he said gently.

“Anyway.. As the centuries went by, it became torturous to be around you. But I couldn’t keep away. I tried.. Oh how I tried. But it didn’t work. I kept coming back, like some lovesick dog to his owner’s side. Life without you got more and more lonely, as life with you grew more and more painful.” He glanced up briefly at the angel and was surprised to see a look of pure sadness on his love’s face. Aziraphale’s large eyes were full of tears and his hands were clasped together at his chest. _Probably feels bad for me the poor thing_ thought Crowley unkindly _oh well. Nothing to do for it now but keep going_. A strange little voice in the back of his head casually mentioned that perhaps he’d never seen the angel tear up like this before, but he ignored it.

“I know… “ he stammered again and paused for a second to summon up his courage. “I know… that you don’t share these feelings, but I don’t honestly care anymore. I am burning up with desire for you. I am wrenched apart with longing. I cannot sleep. I cannot eat. I cannot even think anymore. I am done with the torture. If I am to die in Hell fire for touching you, for wanting to be with you, then so be it”

And with that, he closed the distance between he and the angel and wrapped Azirphale in an embrace.

His left arm slid around the angel’s waist, his right hand laced its fingers through that wild, white blond hair and he buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck and squeezed tightly. He felt his beloved tense up and gasp in surprise. Felt Aziraphale’s hands reflexively come up to rest against the insides of Crowley’s shoulder and hip as if to push the demon away, but there was no pressure to the motion. It was a helpless attempt.

Crowley didn’t care because he’d found heaven again. So many years after falling, he was back in heaven. He stood, pressed completely against Aziraphale, thighs to thighs, hips pressed against hips, stomach to stomach, chest to chest, where he could feel the angel’s heart beating next to his. Both pulses were speeding at an unnatural pace. He nuzzled his face deeper into the angel’s velvety neck and inhaled deeply, smelling his scent. It was strangely reminiscent of ancient pine forests, with an overlay of cinnamon and clove, and deep, deep underneath all that, the smell of clean, polished marble. _Does marble even have a smell?_ Thought Crowley through a mind gone completely sideways. He didn’t care.

To his utter shock and surprise, there was no pain. None at all. No burning. No falling. Nothing ended and there was no anguish. Only the intense pleasure of touching the angel.. His angel. He let that deep breath out and was surprised that the exhale turned into a sob that caught in his throat. And suddenly he was weeping.

Great, wracking sobs shook his narrow shoulders as he clung helplessly to Aziraphale. Sobs made of thousands upon thousands of missed opportunities to touch and be touched by his beautiful angel.

___________________________________________________

Aziraphale felt shock at the demon’s sudden embrace. It was too much. Too fast. He was caught completely unawares, having spent the last many many centuries attempting valiantly to *avoid* situations like this one, and simultaneously, secretly wanting this for just as long. His first instinct was to fall back on the age old denial he employed when thinking about Crowley. To push him away. His hands came up reflexively to do so, but just as quickly, the urge died. Instead, he let his hands rest on the demon’s slender shoulder and against his boney hip. Inside him, his shock turned to surprise as he felt Crowley begin to weep into his neck.

______________________________________________

Crowley wept and wept, and through the tears, he felt Aziraphale’s body slowly relaxing in his embrace. Cell by cell, muscle group by muscle group, he felt Aziraphale let the tension drain out of his body. Simultaneously, his beloved slowly wrapped his right arm around Crowely’s shoulders and his left encircled Crowley’s slender waist and drew him in even tighter against the angel. He relaxed further into the embrace and Crowley felt the angel melt warmly against his body. They stood this way for an unknowable amount of time. Perhaps the sun had set and risen again while they embraced. Crowley didn’t know or care. His sobs eventually slowed and stopped. He was now content to simply cling to Aziraphale and feel the pure, delicious pleasure in being this close to him. Of feeling the angel’s body pressed against his own. He felt like he could stay this way, wrapped up in Aziraphale’s embrace for the next decade. _I wonder if I could nap standing up?_ He thought absently. He’d never felt this whole, this complete.

He heaved a deep sigh and squeezed Aziraphale a little tighter. To his surprise, the angel squeezed back. He felt a tentative hand stroke the back of his neck, and the sensation sent tingles all down his spine and made his insides dissolve into warm flutters.

“I’m so, so sorry” he choked out softly. “I must have made your neck quite … damp”

He felt Aziraphale lean back a little and felt a hand under his chin, gently guiding his face away from Aziraphale’s neck. He didn’t want to look at the angel or to be seen by him. He felt full of a strange mix of shame and joy. His face was probably a tear stained mess. So he kept his eyes closed and allowed the angel to separate their upper bodies enough so that he could see Crowley’s face. He heard Aziraphale let out a concerned sigh and felt his heart sink a little. _Here it comes_ he thought _he’ll tell me he doesn’t feel the same and all this will end_.

Aziraphale’s voice was more than kind when he finally spoke. It was full of sympathy, and something else that Crowely didn’t recognize. “My dearest, dearest darling” the angel whispered, and Crowley’s eyes flew open in surprise and he focused in on Aziraphale’s face. The angel had tears welling up in his eyes as well, and they shown beautifully as he beamed a look of pure affection at Crowley.

“Wha-?” Crowely tried to speak, but Aziraphale silenced him with a finger to his lips “Please do shut up” he said gently, his beautiful eyes, like the wind swept ocean, gazing lovingly into Crowley’s. “Please. You’ve had your turn and you’ve said what you wanted to say, now its my turn.”

Crowley relented and dutifully kept his mouth shut.

“My dearest, dearest darling.” Aziraphale repeated, savoring the feel of those long unspoken words on his lips. “We’ve both been such complete and utter fools haven’t we? How could I have not seen it? How could I have missed all of this going on inside you. I liked to think that I was your closest, dearest friend, and somehow I missed it all completely.”

Crowley, sensing that some sort of rejection *must* be forthcoming, moved as if to break the embrace and move away, but Aziraphale grabbed him by the shoulders to prevent his escape and shook him, not too gently.

“Stop it!” He yelled, uncharacteristically forceful for such a sweetly mannered angel. “Just STOP it you idiot. I am trying, with limited success to tell you that I’m madly, deeply and completely in love with you and you are making it as difficult as possible!”

Crowley’s yellow and black eyes went wide and his mouth gaped in surprise. “But.. you?... “ he stuttered.

Aziraphale took this moment to grab him by the shirt front and pull him into a kiss.

It started out gently. He simply fit his lips against Crowley’s and pressed. He’d never kissed anyone before, but it felt natural and right to do this now. He was surprised by the explosion of warmth that blossomed in his chest and moved swiftly to parts further south, burning a delicious path as it traveled. _Oh dear! So this is what all the songs are about?_ He thought hazily as his world narrowed down to the feel of his lips against Crowley’s. He could smell the delicious gust of breath heavy with pheromones expelled from Crowley’s nostrils as he exhaled at the shock of the sudden contact. He let his eyes drift closed and leaned into the kiss.

___________________________________________________

_So soft. So *incredibly* *soft*_ Crowley thought as the angel’s lips met his. How could anything be *this* soft? He felt body turn instantly to flames. But still there was no pain. No burning. No falling. No clouds cracking open to rain lightening down on them. No fissures opened in the earth to swallow them up. It was just he and Aziraphale, locked in a passionate embrace. Just he and Aziraphale, alone.

He wrapped his arms tighter around Aziraphale and gently parted the angel’s soft soft lips with his own. Gently, as if the angel were made of something delicate and breakable, he let his tongue seek its way tentatively inside Aziraphale’s warm, welcoming mouth. It found the angel’s tongue and the two got acquainted in a slippery way that made Crowley’s knees go weak. He heard Aziraphale make a small, desperate sound against him. That sound spurred him on, and framing Aziraphale’s face with his hands, he kissed him soundly, the way he’d dreamed of doing for so long. Their tongues and lips slid deliciously together as their kiss grew deeper and more passionate. Crowley heard a groan rise from deep in his throat that he was only vaguely aware of. Simultaneously, he awkwardly walked Aziraphale backwards over to a nearby bookshelf and pressed him firmly up against it. Daringly, he pushed his hips against the angel’s, feeling the evidence of their passion press together and heard Aziraphale moan in response. His head was full of the angel’s smell and it had intoxicated him. He was beyond conscious thought at this point. Meanwhile, Aziraphale had pushed Crowley’s jacket roughly from his shoulders had begun clumsily and desperately unbuttoning Crowely’s slinky black shirt. He slipped a hand inside and placed it on Crowley’s bare chest (just as he had in the dream) and the demon gasped in pleasure. “Oh. Oh!” he exclaimed helplessly. “That… your hand.. It feels.” Before he could finish the sentence, Aziraphale had captured his mouth again passionately and had started to slide his soft hand, which burned with a delicious fire, down Crowleys’ smooth chest and around his side to stroke his bare waist.

Not being overly concerned with buttons, Crowely pulled apart Aziraphale’s ridiculous, tartan bow tie and ripped his shirt open. Buttons clattered to the hardwood floor at their feet and Crowley hungrily ran his hands over the angel’s velvety soft chest and stomach. He heard angel gasp and felt him kiss Crowely back harder, desperately, making up for thousands and thousands of lost and missed opportunities to do so. Aziraphel let his kisses leave the demon’s lips and made a trail of them across Crowley’s handsome, sharp jawline and down the side of his sinuous neck, muttering softly and breathlessly in the spaces between kisses

“Darling” kiss “Dearest” kiss “Beloved” kiss.

He ended up at the hollow in Crowley’s throat and stopped there long enough to lovingly caress the soft indentation with his hot tongue. Crowley, his head thrown back in ecstasy thought he might explode with pent up desire. He gently placed a hand on either side of Aziraphale’s face and brought it up to his own, gazing intently into his eyes. “My love” he said, his voice rough with passion. “Take me to your bed. Now”.

Aziraphale’s lovely face bloomed with possibly the most beautiful smile Crowley had seen in decades. “Yes indeed” he said softly, pausing to plant a slow, deliberate and lingering kiss on his demon’s lips. “Yes indeed I shall”


End file.
